


At focus

by Lacertae



Series: Kinktoberfest 2018 [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fingering, Headspace, Kinktober 2018, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensory Deprivation, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 12:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16285031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: Kinktober 2018 Day 03 - Hanzo/Zenyatta





	At focus

**Author's Note:**

> admittedly not much hanzo here, will need to rectify soon...

**Day 03 – Sensory Deprivation** | ~~Temperature~~ ~~Play~~ | ~~Edgeplay~~ | ~~Knife Play~~

It is a weird sensation, and not one Zenyatta would usually welcome –with his optical receptors offline and his auricular receptors disabled, his world is plunged into an uncomfortable, still silence.

He is still able to feel the hard floor under his knees, though, sensors buzzing to keep his brain alive with the little information he can gather, the temperature of the room he’s in, the vibration of the steps of the person with him in there as he moves closer –and it’s the only warning Zenyatta has, lost within a velvety world of darkness, before a hand caresses down his faceplate, and stops by his chin.

The touch jolts him a little, but he remains quiet and motionless, though his processors focus on what he can feel from that hand, latching onto it, unable to stay idle with the lack of data. Calloused fingers rub at a spot underneath his jaw, and Zenyatta’s synth crackles with electricity when the pad of a thumb rolls over a tiny sensor tucked out of sight.

He must have made a sound, though he has no capacity  to hear it himself, because the hand tugs his head up, and for a moment Zenyatta feels a vertigo of confusion when he follows the lead of the hand, processors still buzzing at the sensations he received from that one tiny sensor.

Zenyatta knows that lacking one sense, the rest seem to grow keener, but he never truly experienced that in such a way –his sensors are sensitive, but what he is feeling is sharper than that.

Hanzo left him alone long enough in the room, kneeling in silence and without being able to see, watching him from afar, waiting –the anticipation built from that, even with Zenyatta’s patience curbing it, but now he’s _touching_ him, and it’s just…

The hand on his chin curls to the back of his head, cradling it, and Zenyatta gives in, leans into the touch and rubs the side of his faceplate into the palm of the hand, only to jolt again when fingers _dig_ into the wires at the back of his head, scraping against them.

The world tilts as sparkles pass by his blank vision, flashes of light through the darkness, and Zenyatta stumbles, pleasure blossoming through his sensors as the fingers in his wires _twist_ , and he falls, unable to keep himself on his knees any longer. An arm wraps around his frame, and Zenyatta bumps into Hanzo’s chest, steady and warm under his heated faceplate, and he clings to him, gasps out loud when the fingers in his wires continue to tug and pull at them, sending more sparks of pleasure down his back.

He can’t even hear himself moan, nor can he see anything, but all thoughts vanish from his mind as the other hand slides between his legs, parting them with ease to rub against his modesty panel.

Zenyatta bucks into the touch, fingers digging into the soft fabric of Hanzo’s shirt, and he knows he must be saying something –his synth is crackling, buzzes and vibrates– but he can’t hear himself.

Pleasure blossoms with every tiny flick of Hanzo’s fingers, precise movements that set Zenyatta’s sensors off before he pauses, long enough so that Zenyatta can recover before he tugs at them again, and it’s a kind of pleasure he’s not ready for.

A flick on his wires has him arch his back, then he slumps forwards again, slotting his frame against Hanzo’s one, only to writhe again when fingers dig deeper into the back of his neck, searching, rubbing and tugging–

He feels Hanzo’s beard scratch against the side of his faceplate, he feels his fingers push-pull on his wires, he feels his other hand press against his valve –when did his modesty panel slide out of the way? He can’t remember in the haze of the pleasure– flat palm sliding easily with how much slick is dripping from it, and he shudders against Hanzo’s chest, fingers twitching.

The pleasure swells, there is nothing to distract him from it, from the continuous, insistent touches, the dark only making them more intense.

He can’t see Hanzo’s face, he can’t hear his voice even as he’s sure he’s murmuring something, because he can feel the vibration of his throat and chest against his chassis, and Zenyatta is sure that without his body, grounding against his own, he would float away in the pleasure.

Zenyatta’s head swims in it, the darkness around him expanding and constricting with every movement of Hanzo’s deft hands, but always, _always_ , Hanzo’s frame keeps him rooted in place, allows him to get lost in the pleasure.

When he accepted Hanzo’s request –when he allowed Hanzo to have this, because he trusts him, because he wants him to know he can have this kind of control over Zenyatta, that he knows he will not hurt him– he did not expect it would feel like this, and now Zenyatta is at Hanzo’s mercy, his hands dragging more and more sounds out of his synth, making him sing and push his faceplate into Hanzo’s chest, shuddering as the pleasure crests inside him.

Swift, unexpected, Hanzo shifts them. Zenyatta falls back, caught by vertigo again as he feels the world twist around him without control, and then his back hits the floor, thighs parted, and he feels Hanzo slide between them, his hand returning to rub and caress at his valve, even as he doesn’t fuck into him, keeping his touches light as Zenyatta arches up into him, into the other hand still digging into his wires, and he knows he’s calling out for him, his synth vibrating in his throat even as he comes, overloading over Hanzo’s hand, fingers tugging uselessly at his clothes.


End file.
